


the mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings

by acornsofthemind



Series: ad astra per aspera [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Canon Universe, Episode Remix, Episode: s03e14-15 The Boiling Rock, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornsofthemind/pseuds/acornsofthemind
Summary: Sokka and Zuko are on the edge of the lake, planning their route of entry. They’ve both fallen silent, trying to figure out the best path, and Sokka’s mind is racing, coming up with plans and discarding them just as fast. A loud, suddenthwipbreaks the air.Sokka freezes for a split second before looking around hastily. Shit, they’ve been discovered. They’ve been caught, and they’re going to be locked up, and he’ll have cost the avatar his firebending master, and lost them the war, all with this one impulsive,stupid, jackalope-brained scheme of his.or: The Boiling Rock with wings
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: ad astra per aspera [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881859
Comments: 43
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally planning to post this after I'd finished writing the rest of the episode, but today (8/16) is my birthday, so I decided to treat myself. 
> 
> Sokka and Zuko's wings are linked in the end notes.

Sokka and Zuko are on the edge of the lake, planning their route of entry. They’ve both fallen silent, trying to figure out the best path, and Sokka’s mind is racing, coming up with plans and discarding them just as fast. A loud, sudden _thwip_ breaks the air.

Sokka freezes for a split second before looking around hastily. Shit, they’ve been discovered. They’ve been caught, and they’re going to be locked up, and he’ll have cost the avatar his firebending master, and lost them the war, all with this one impulsive, _stupid_ , jackalope-brained scheme of his.

...These Fire Nation soldiers sure are taking a long time to pounce on them.

Sokka’s gaze lands on Zuko, and he finds the prince giving him a calculating look, eyeing his wings. He realizes with a sudden flush of embarrassment that _he’d_ made the noise, flipping his wing nervously, a habit he thought he’d broken long ago—back before his mother was killed, back when he’d been a kid, and his father had gone out on a hunting trip. He’d been too young to fly, to follow them, but he _did_ have enough feathers to snap the air, desperate for his dad’s attention. And Hakoda had turned back, promising that he’d only be gone for a few days, gently teasing him about how his flipping would scare away the prey when he was old enough to go out on hunts.

He’s glad that the darkness hides his blush, now, as he pulls his wings in closer to his body. “What?” he asks, like he didn’t nearly have a heart attack because of a noise his own wing had made.

Zuko’s still looking at his wings, and Sokka shuffles them self-consciously. “Your wings might be a problem.”

His wings still and then droop. “Why? The color? I know mostly white isn’t super common in the Fire Nation, but—”

“No, no,” Zuko says, waving his hands dismissively. “The color’s not an issue; your uniform will cover most of your feathers anyway. You’re too”—Zuko gestures helplessly, pausing for so long that Sokka nearly snaps at him to _spit it out already_ , but then he continues, tone apologetic—“ _expressive_.”

Expressive? What does _that_ mean?

His confusion must show on his face, because Zuko says, “You show your emotions with your wings. And they’re constantly moving. It’s not a _bad_ thing, it’s just— not really something we do in the Fire Nation.”

There’s something vulnerable in Zuko’s tone, something that he isn’t saying. And Sokka is suddenly struck by the fact that he’s almost never seen Zuko’s wings spread. Sure, it made sense in the beginning, back when he was trying to hunt them. Fire Nation armor is too heavy for flying, so why would he have spread them, given them a bigger target? But he’s part of their group, now, and he _still_ hasn’t ever relaxed his wings from the rigid position he carries them in.

Sokka knows better than to press the issue—at least, not now, when they’re in enemy territory. He pulls his wings in flush to his body, trying to mimic the way the prince holds them, and gives him a sharp nod. “What do you have in mind?”

Zuko reaches a hand under his shirt, and Sokka’s eyes fall to the thin strip of skin exposed and— Woah, brain, abort, _abort_.

And then Zuko’s holding out— a wing binder?

“I had to wear one when I was a kid,” he explains. “I talked with my wings a lot. Not very princely behavior. Can’t have your wings giving away all your thoughts during meetings.” He shrugs, like forcing your kid to wear a binder—taking away their ability to express themselves, to _communicate_ —was totally normal and _not_ awful.

Sokka can’t think of _anything_ that he could say in response to that revelation. It doesn’t matter; he wouldn’t be able to speak past the lump in his throat anyway. And Zuko is continuing, eyes distant, lost in memories: “And of course, I had to wear one when I—” he stops, abruptly, cutting himself off mid-thought. It’s almost a relief; Sokka isn't sure how much more he could bear to listen to.

“Well, anyway,” Zuko says after a moment, an ever so slight tremor in his voice (and Sokka might have missed it if he hadn’t been hanging off his every word in abject horror). “This one’s only a few years old”—which, _what the fuck?_ —“so it shouldn’t fit too badly. I’m guessing you’ve never worn one before, though. Do you want me to help…?”

Sokka nods his head wordlessly, still not trusting his voice. He peels his shirt off and definitely does _not_ jump when Zuko’s (very warm) hands brush against his skin as he guides his arms through the binder. The back of it settles against his spine, in the space between his scapulars, coming around to buckle at his waist.

Zuko wraps a long, trailing strap in a figure eight around his wing, carefully slipping his fingers between the leather and his feathers at each pass to make sure it’s not too tight. “They’re a bit small,” he says, hands stopping near the bottom of his rib cage. “Hold this?”

Sokka takes it silently, and Zuko makes quick work of cutting a strip of fabric from his shirt. He ties one end to the buckle on the strap and the other to the belt around Sokka’s waist. “This will be better for emergencies, too. It should be sturdy enough to remind you to keep your wings still, but the fabric will rip if you push hard enough.”

Sokka nods, flexing his wing experimentally. Zuko starts to bind his other one, though he can feel the firebender watching him. There’s a bit of give to the binder, but not much; he fights back a grimace. It’s not tight or painful, but he’s surprised at how... stifling it feels. He should’ve expected it, but it still _sucks_. He can’t imagine wearing one almost constantly, like people in Ba Sing Se did.

“Ugh,” he groans, “how do you deal with this?”

Zuko’s lips quirk. “You get used to it. Is it comfortable?”

“As it’ll ever be.”

“Then stop ruffling your feathers,” Zuko snaps, though his voice is soft and teasing.

“Yes, sir.” Sokka grins back, snapping to attention. He twists his head in a vain attempt to look at his wings. “Do the straps show?”

“A bit,” Zuko replies, carding his fingers through Sokka’s coverts to—presumably—hide the straps more. Sokka tries very hard to pay attention to Zuko’s words, rather than the feeling of fingers combing through his feathers. “But that shouldn’t be an issue. Your uniform should cover it up, and if anyone notices, you can just say it was injured. The guards wouldn’t be expected to fly much, so some of them might be wearing binders anyway.”

“Okay.” Sokka nods and starts to put his shirt back on. Zuko’s hand on his arm stops him. “What?”

“The blue’s too noticeable.” Zuko takes off his robe and holds it out to him. “You can borrow this until we find some uniforms to wear.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Their fingers brush as he takes it, and he knows he’s blushing again. He blames it on the heat of the boiling lake. There’s definitely _no other reason_.

Zuko turns away, ducking his head, and carefully folds Sokka’s discarded shirt before hiding it and his sword beneath one of the loose rocks near the edge of the cliff.

“Oh, good idea,” Sokka says as he pulls the robe on. It’s a bit awkward trying to get it to lay right, since he can’t shuffle his wings like normal, but he gets it situated after a moment. Zuko’s watching him with barely concealed amusement, and Sokka huffs. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

Sokka glares at him and makes an _I’m watching you_ gesture. He turns back towards the prison, squaring his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first atla fic, so let me know if I got their voices right!
> 
> Sokka — [gyrfalcon (white morph)](https://www.flickr.com/photos/94175031@N00/4270262318/in/photostream/)  
> Zuko — [American kestrel](https://www.flickr.com/photos/evanjenkins/22957514353/)
> 
> here's my [tumblr](https://acornsofthemind.tumblr.com/) if you want to ask me questions about this verse/bug me to update
> 
> title from The Horror and the Wild by The Amazing Devil


	2. Chapter 2

There’s an access door at the bottom of one of the walls, luckily. Sokka’s the one who spots it, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Zuko is moving. He scales the cliff like an orb weaver gecko, scrambling to the top in the blink of an eye. Sokka’s good at rock climbing—Aang had made sure of _that_ during his pre-invasion freakout—but he can do little more than gape up at Zuko because that was just _inhuman_.

Zuko glances down at him with an infuriatingly cocky smirk, like he can hear what Sokka’s thinking. “Well? Are you planning to join me up here?”

Sokka snaps his mouth shut and starts to climb, grumbling about show-off jerkbenders under his breath; really, it's just _unfair_ for Zuko to be so good at everything. He obviously isn’t as fast as Zuko had been, but since he doesn’t have his wings for balance, he feels like it’s still pretty impressive when he reaches the ledge in less than a minute. (Of course, Zuko hadn’t used _his_ wings for balance either, but he’s going to ignore that for his peace of mind.)

He takes Zuko’s offered hand gratefully, letting the firebender help pull him to his feet. (And if their hands stay clasped for a moment longer than necessary, it’s definitely not a big deal and not worth noting.) Sokka pulls his hand back reluctantly and turns to the door. _Focus on the mission_.

He knows he shouldn’t look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth, but he can’t stop himself from asking, “Why do they even have a door here?”

Zuko raises an eyebrow. “To make repairs on the outside of the prison?” he says very judgmentally, like it should’ve been obvious.

Which, yeah, but also: “Couldn’t they just, you know—” He starts to spread his wings, but the binder stops him short; right, no wing gesturing allowed in the Fire Nation. “—fly?” The guards here can’t possibly be wearing armor; it’s way too hot. “Zuko, if I have to wear armor in this heat, I’ll _die_.”

Zuko ignores his incredibly valid concern and points up at the top of the wall. “Would you want to try to land here? And risk falling into a boiling lake?”

Sokka frowns. Sure, the ledge they’re on isn’t _that_ big, but there’d be plenty of room to land safely. And there was the shore below the cliff, if someone totally miscalculated.

Zuko sighs. “You’re thinking about _your_ wings. Fire Nation wings are built for soaring; they’re not as maneuverable. It’s safer to just have a door. Especially if they’re weighed down by tools.”

Okay, yeah. That’s fair. Anyone else from his village would’ve had trouble making that landing. Even _Katara_ , and she’d spent months traveling with the avatar and running from danger, forcing her to learn how to work around the sometimes-inconvenient length of her wings.

The door isn’t unlocked, but the lock is old and shoddy enough that it shouldn’t be too hard to pick. Zuko apparently reads his mind again, passing him a knife before he can ask—which, where had he gotten _that_?—and it doesn’t take long for him to force it open. It’s louder than he would have liked, but no guards appear as they wait with baited breath. After a few minutes, Zuko slips by him and starts down the hallway, gesturing for him to follow.

Sokka hadn’t wanted to bring him along, hadn’t wanted to risk getting _two_ people locked up, but he has to admit that it’s a good thing that Zuko had insisted on joining him. He’s not sure if it’s some sort of innate Fire Nation navigation ability or if all their buildings follow the same layout (or if it's just false confidence and Zuko actually has no idea where he's going), but Zuko leads him through a few hallways before stopping in front of a door that’s identical to every other one they’ve passed.

“Extra uniforms should be in here,” he says, keeping his voice low. They haven’t seen anyone else, luckily—only heard a few guards walking in a different direction—but it’s still better to be cautious.

Sokka shoots him a skeptical look (because, really, there’s _no way_ this is the right room; Zuko must have just chosen one at random) and opens the door. The walls are lined with uniforms. Of course they are. He pointedly does _not_ look at Zuko’s undoubtedly smug face and steps further into the room to start changing. (He _also_ does not look when Zuko stops at a set of shelves just on the edge of his vision and starts taking his shirt off. Not that he’s tempted.)

He shakes his head slightly, trying to force himself to focus on the task at hand. While keeping an ear out for anyone approaching, he grabs the first piece of clothing he sees, unfolding it to reveal some sort of vest-cape thing. _Alright_. He sets the mystery item aside and grabs the pants instead. Pants are easy. So’s the shirt. Next comes the… skirt, maybe? It looks like it could be a skirt. He hears a soft huff and glances up to find Zuko standing beside him, already fully dressed, uniform impeccable, giving him a very unimpressed look.

“Hey, it’s not like I’ve ever worn one of these before!”

“Neither have I.”

“Yeah, but you grew up with all this Fire Nation-y stuff.” He waves a hand. “All the layers and rules and stuff. In the Southern Water Tribe, if it kept you warm, it was good. It didn’t matter what things looked like.” His words come out a bit more snappy (and whiny) than he would have liked, but he thinks he’s justified in being a bit stressed at the moment. This is a very stressful situation.

Zuko’s face softens. “That’s fair. You got it mostly right, anyway.” He steps closer and starts fixing Sokka’s uniform. It feels like a lot more adjustments than _mostly right_ would warrant, but Sokka isn’t going to complain. Not when Zuko is yet again proving how vital it was that he came along (and how in over his head Sokka is right now).

Zuko guides his arms through the holes in the vest-cape—“Wing cover,” Zuko corrects, making a noise that’s dangerously close to a laugh—and steps behind him.

“Ugh, really? _Over_ my wings? Like it isn’t hot enough in the middle of a volcano.”

Zuko snorts. “It’s so the prisoners don’t try to grab your coverts.”

“That was a joke, right?” The firebender behind him is suspiciously silent. Sokka lets out a slow breath. “Spirits, this place is the _worst._ ”

Zuko finally moves in front of him again, taking a step back to cast a critical eye over him. “You look good.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Zuko flushes as he seems to register his words. “Uh, I— I mean—”

“The uniform,” Sokka offers.

“ _Yes_. The _uniform_ looks good.”

“Thanks. Or— Well, you did most of the work, I guess, so...” His sentence trails off, and he grabs a helmet to hide his face. He’s not quite sure why _he’s_ blushing—second-hand embarrassment, maybe?—but Zuko is resolutely avoiding his gaze, so he decides to ignore it for now. “Anyway, we should probably start looking.”

Zuko nods, relief crossing his face before he puts on his helmet and steps over to the door, cracking it open. “It’s all clear,” he whispers. “Let’s go.”

Sokka steps into the hallway after him and catches the door, trying to ease it closed; of course, it still creaks horrendously. (Even the _doors_ in the Fire Nation hate him.) They wait there for a moment, backs against the wall, but the prison is still eerily quiet.

Sokka nearly jumps when Zuko mutters, “I hope these disguises work.”

“We just need to lay low and find my dad as soon as possible.”

That apparently tempts fate because not even a second later, a group of guards runs past. Sokka and Zuko both instinctively shrink back against the wall—in a way that probably looks incredibly suspicious—praying that they won’t be noticed.

But since the universe hates him, they’re spotted, one of the men shouting, “Guards! There's a scuffle in the yard. Come on.”

Well, he did say they’d be playing it by ear. He exchanges a quick glance with Zuko before the two of them race after the guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> working title for this chapter: Sokka vs doors
> 
> I'm looking for a beta, if anyone's interested!  
> (Thanks to my sister, [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirikka/pseuds/Hirikka), for looking this over/listening to me talk about this fic constantly)
> 
> Katara — [cape petrel](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/53/Daption_capense_in_flight_-_SE_Tasmania.jpg)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard of wing clipping, it's a temporary and painless way to prevent flight. You just cut about half the length of primaries off with scissors, and the bird is unable to fly until its next molt.
> 
> [Here's a diagram](https://www.petworldlawrence.com/images/WingClip.png) of where you cut and [here's a photo of a total wing clip](http://www.katscrittercare.com/images/Wingtrim.JPG) and [one where the two outermost primaries are left intact](http://washandwagdoggrooming.yolasite.com/resources/Wing-clipped-modified.jpg).

Sokka blinks spots out of his eyes at the sudden change in lighting from the dim metal halls to the bright daylight of the yard. Why does the prison even have a yard without a roof? He glances up, thinking for a second that it might be glass, but nope. There’s nothing other than open sky above their heads. Why don’t the prisoners fly out?

He gets his answer as he and Zuko shove through the crowd of prisoners with the rest of the guards: There’s no danger of people trying to fly away because _everyone has clipped wings_. (Of course they do. Because the Fire Nation is the worst.)

They break through the crowd, the other guards spreading out to form a ring in front of the rest of the prisoners. Whatever’s happening in the center of the circle, it doesn’t look like much of a “scuffle,” just a standoff between a guard and a single prisoner.

“I didn't do anything! I'm going back to my cell,” the prisoner says, turning away.

The guard cracks a fire whip at him. “Stop right there, Chit Sang.”

Zuko’s wings shift just enough so that Sokka can see some rust colored feathers poke through the slits in his wing cover as his hackles start to rise. He steps forward, and Sokka grabs his arm, hissing, “We can't blow our cover.” They can’t get involved in every conflict they see, or they’ll never even get close to rescuing his dad.

Zuko’s arm is still tense under his hand, muscles coiled as he fights the urge to pounce, but he—thankfully—falls back into line.

“I've had it with your unruly behavior!”

The prisoner—Chit Sang—doesn’t turn; he just asks, over his shoulder, “What did I do?”

“He wants to know what he did.” _Tui and La_ , the guard is turning towards them. “Isn't that cute?”

Sokka fights to keep his breathing steady, even as panic clouds his mind. Was the question rhetorical, or were they supposed to answer? He can’t see Zuko well enough—the stupid metal helmet narrowing his field of vision—to gauge his reaction, so he just prays that the prince will take the lead on this. Zuko stays silent, so he does, as well, but then the guard is lifting his visor to squint at them. Oh _spirits—_

“Uh, very cute, sir,” Zuko finally says, voice hesitant.

Sokka jumps aboard with all the relief and grace of a drowning man as he echoes, “Super cute.”

That seems to appease the guard, and he turns back to harassing the prisoner. Sokka lets out a measured breath, relief coursing through him at no longer being scrutinized.

“You didn't bow down when I walked by, Chit Sang!”

Chit Sang glares, feathers hackling. “What? That's not a prison rule.”

“Do it!”

“Make me,” Chit Sang growls, wings spreading wide, and even with his primaries cut, they’re _huge_. In the Southern Water Tribe, spread wings were always a friendly gesture, but even Sokka shudders at the shadow cast, at the _danger_ the motion promises, and he feels Zuko freeze like a rabbit-mouse at his side.

The guard starts to walk away, but then he turns, aiming a fire whip at Chit Sang’s back. He spins, redirecting the blast towards the guard. Even Sokka can tell that he hadn’t added any fire to it, that it wasn’t going to—or supposed to—hurt the guard. It was a message, rather than an actual attack.

That was apparently the reaction that the guard wanted; he clucks his tongue and then—with such a self-satisfied tone that it makes Sokka’s skin crawl—says, “Firebending is prohibited. You're going in the cooler.” He points at Sokka. “You! Help me take him in.”

Honestly, fuck his life. He risks a glance at Zuko, whispering, “Meet back here in an hour.” _And stay safe,_ he doesn’t add. Then he jogs after the guard to help put Chit Sang in the cooler. Whatever _that_ is.

The cooler is a glorified icebox. Though, how it stays cold in the middle of a boiling lake is a mystery. Questions sit on the tip of his tongue, but he doubts that the guard would appreciate an interrogation about the mechanisms at work (and he doubts the man would know the answers, even if he did muster up the courage—stupidity?—to ask).

“The warden will deal with you soon,” the guard says, shoving Chit Sang in. After Sokka has closed both the doors, the guard jerks his thumb at the cooler. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Prisoners! Am I right?” he replies, pasting on a grin and hoping that it sounds somewhat natural.

“Ugh. Tell me about it.” The conversation luckily ends there, the guard leaning back against the wall and lifting his visor. He stares blankly at the other side of the hallway.

Sokka’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do now: Do they both stay at the cooler the entire time a prisoner is in there, or should he be making rounds or something? The safest bet is probably following the other guard’s lead, so he settles against the wall on the other side of the door (keeping his visor down because he’s not a complete idiot).

Waiting here seems like a total waste of time. He should be out in the yard or checking the cells, looking for his dad. He could try to ask the guard some questions, see if he had any useful information (or a name, so Sokka could at least stop thinking of him as “the guard”), but the man didn’t seem particularly chatty. And Sokka didn’t quite trust his ability to act sufficiently Fire Nation-y without Zuko around.

He hopes that Zuko is faring better than he is, right now. He’d seemed on edge since they arrived, but Sokka doesn’t know whether he’s nervous about being in the Fire Nation again in general or if it’s the whole "inescapable prison" thing in particular. He wishes that they were still together; being separated in this place seems like a recipe for disaster. But hopefully, while he’s stuck here, Zuko’s taking this time to look for his dad… Shoot, had he told Zuko what his dad looks like? How was he so bad at this?

Well, Sokka will deal with that later. If he’s going to be here for a while, he might as well start working on their escape plan. Maybe he can manage to do something useful with this time.

Frustratingly, it doesn’t take him long to reach a dead end; he hasn’t seen enough of the prison yet to come up with a solid idea. The warden still hasn’t showed up, and the other guard is still just standing there silent, staring at a wall with a slight smirk. He seems like he’d be perfectly content to stay there until the end of time. _Sokka_ , however, is getting restless.

He moves without thinking, stepping over to the door to peer inside. He may not know exactly how long they’ve been there, but it hasn’t been _that_ long. Not long enough for Chit Sang to be shivering the way he is, at least.

Admittedly, Sokka is basing that judgement on his experiences growing up in the south pole, where he’d only ever been around other people who’d grown up there (and Aang, who doesn’t count, since airbenders could regulate their temperature, anyway). And there was also the transition from unfathomably-hot-and-humid-prison to freezing-cold-room to consider, but something about it still feels _off_ , somehow.

“It sure looks cold in there,” he can’t stop himself from saying. He immediately wants to smack himself because, really? What a _stupid_ thing to say. Though—maybe that wasn’t actually a bad idea. If the guards think he’s an idiot, they might be more likely to overlook any mistakes he might make.

“That's why we call it the _cooler_. He won't be firebending there.” Footsteps echo down the hall, and the guard says, “It's the warden! Look alive!”

Sokka moves back to his spot beside the door, his shoulders rising nervously. Is he supposed to bow? Bowing is a big thing in the Fire Nation, right? Zuko and Aang always bow after they finish training, but which way are his hands supposed to go? While he’s mid-crisis, the warden and his entourage step past. They don’t even glance at him, so— success?

One of the new guards slides the cooler doors open, and the warden steps in. “So Chit Sang,” he says, “I hear you used firebending to try to escape. You should know better.”

Chit Sang’s voice trembles from the cold, but he grits out, “I wasn't _trying_ to escape.”

“He's lying! I saw it with my own eyes,” the guard exclaims, and Sokka bites his tongue to stop himself from pointing out the fact that, actually, Chit Sang had been harassed into bending, no escape attempt involved.

“No one has ever, ever escaped from here. I'd sooner jump in the boiling lake myself than let that record fall.” The warden pauses. “Don't forget it. Now go back to your shivering.”

Well, the warden better get ready to jump, then, because that record _will_ be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comment and kudos!  
> Sorry this chapter is a bit late. Updates might get a bit sporadic as my uni classes start, but I'm going to try to keep posting roughly every/every other week.
> 
> Thanks to [burnt_oranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnt_oranges/pseuds/burnt_oranges) for beta-ing!  
> (And [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirikka/pseuds/Hirikka), for continuing to put up with my infinite messages)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cubitus is the Latin word for elbow, so cubital joint = wing elbow (more biology info in the end notes)

His dad isn’t here. He came all this way, he _risked their lives_ for this mission, and his dad _isn’t here_. Why did he expect this to go well—or even be _possible_ —when every other plan of his has failed? That’s the _reason_ they’re even here in the first place: trying to fix one of his previous failures. (In any other scenario, he might admire the universe’s sense of irony and commitment to screwing him over.)

Azula’s voice echoes in his ears: _You never came, and she gave up on you._ She had been baiting him. She was able to lie well enough to trick Toph. But what if that _hadn’t_ been a lie? What if Suki had given up on him?

_She’d be right to_. The thought slices through him viciously, and he clenches his fists, nails biting into his palms.

How many people has he failed over the years? He couldn’t save his mother. He’d been responsible for protecting Yue, and he let her die, too. He couldn’t help when Aang was struck by lightning or when Hama forced Katara to bloodbend. He hadn’t bothered to look for Suki. He got the invasion forces captured and imprisoned. How many people had been hurt during the battle? How many had _died_ because of his poor judgement?

He always fails the people he cares about. He’s useless when it matters most. (Maybe that fortune teller was on to something when she said all he was destined for was self-inflicted struggle and anguish.)

He nearly collapses before remembering the spirits-damned wing binder. (Though crushing all his flight feathers and cracking his cubital joints against the floor would be a fitting addition to what’s shaping up to be the second worst day of his life.) He slumps against the wall—which is significantly less satisfying than collapsing would have been—trying to hide the way his wings are quivering.

(Some distant part of his brain wonders how people normally sit in these things. What, do Fire Nation citizens just have to stand all the time? Is sitting illegal there?)

“Ah, what would Uncle say? Sometimes, clouds have two sides, a dark and light, and a silver lining in between. It's like a silver sandwich!”

Zuko clearly has no idea where he’s going with this, but Sokka can’t keep a small smile off his face. It’s sweet that Prince I’m-never-happy is trying to cheer him up.

“So... when life seems hard... take a bite out of the silver sandwich!”

Sokka glances up at the cloud that Zuko is dramatically gesturing toward before his eyes fall to the prisoners spread around the yard.

A few prisoners are walking around, but most are preening or sunning themselves, wings stretched wide and feathers fluffed up to catch as much light as possible. A sea of broad wings, stark black and grey and brown, with jaggedly cut feathers. One prisoner’s wings stand out; the secondaries curve more than typical Fire Nation wings, and the primaries aren’t cut quite as short. They’re dark brown and golden, with white speckling on the coverts—

Wait. He knows those feathers.

He scrambles to the railing. “Maybe we haven't failed after all!”

“That's the spirit!” Zuko exclaims, and then, quieter, “I can't believe that worked. I didn't even know what I was saying.”

“No, what you said made no sense at all.” Oh, was that too mean? Probably not. Moving on: “But look... It's Suki!”

A bell starts ringing, and a guard calls, “Prisoners, back in your cells!”

Suki stands and folds her wings, filing after the rest of the prisoners. Sokka rushes after them. If he can’t save his dad, at least he can save her.

Sokka slips into the cell, practically bouncing with excitement.

Suki’s sitting on her bed, preening her wings (and Sokka’s heart clenches at the sight of her clipped feathers), but her head snaps up when she hears him enter. She shoots him a glare. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

Sokka crosses his arms over his chest and asks, tone teasing, “You mean you don't recognize me?”

“You people all look the same to me,” she snipes back.

He smirks. “Oh? Then maybe you'll recognize this.” He leans forward to kiss her cheek, the same way she’d kissed him at Full Moon Bay. But before he even gets close, a hand is on his face, and then he’s flying backwards like Suki suddenly learned how to airbend. (Though airbending didn’t usually feel like it was about to break his sternum.)

He manages to keep his feet under him, but his wings smack painfully against the cell door, and his helmet crashes to the ground. He blinks at her, stunned, and sees her mirrored surprise. Then she grins, rushing forward to pull him into a hug. “Sokka! It’s you!”

He’s still a bit winded, but he hugs her back, sliding his fingers into her coverts. After a moment, he pulls back enough to ask, “The other Kyoshi Warriors, are they here? Or anyone else from the invasion force?”

Her face falls. “No. I don't know where they are. They locked me in here because I'm the leader.”

“Well, you won't be here for long,” he promises, moving his hand to rest on her cheek. “I'm busting you out.”

She grabs his hand, a small smile growing on her face. “I'm so glad to see you, Sokka. I knew you'd come.”

Oh. He’s surprised to find himself blinking back tears. He doesn’t know why he ever let himself believe Azula, but the relief of knowing that Suki _hadn’t_ given up on him (that someone believes he isn’t a failure or useless) nearly knocks him over. The guilt about _not_ looking for her starts to rise again, but he forces it down. He can deal with that later. (Or never.) For now, he just wants to enjoy this, one of the weights he’s been carrying since the invasion finally lifting.

He draws her into another hug, and she tucks her wings around him. He settles his chin on her shoulder, taking a moment to revel in the fact that she’s safe, that he can still rescue _one_ person he cares about.

Nothing good can ever last long; a knock echoes through the room, jolting him back to the present. He steps back from Suki, casting a worried glance towards the door.

He hears a guard, slightly muffled through the metal door: “Excuse me. I need to get into that cell.”

“No, you can't go in there!” Zuko blurts.

Sokka crosses his fingers and ducks out of view of the door slit. _Please_ let him be able to pull this off. He’s a prince; he should know how to lie with confidence, right?

“The lights are out,” Zuko continues hesitantly. Oh no. Oh, this is painful to listen to. “The prisoner could sneak up on you.”

“Step aside, fool,” she scoffs. Then she yelps, “Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Something heavy slams into the cell door with the last word.

There’s another thud against the door, and Zuko groans. 

Sokka grabs his helmet, sliding it back on. He can hear metal clanging outside the cell as the two continue to struggle and just has to pray that Zuko has distracted her enough that she won’t see him leave the cell. He holds his breath and slips out of the room.

He tiptoes down the hall. He’s on the verge of hoping that he’ll make a successful getaway—though even if he escapes notice, he’s not sure how he’ll get _Zuko_ out of this mess—when the guard calls out, “Guard, help! I think he's an impostor! Arrest him!”

Sokka cringes, turning around. He hesitates for a moment, and the woman barks, “Get him off me and arrest him!”

Well, there’s really no way out of this one. He crosses the hallway and grabs Zuko’s arm, slamming him onto the ground. “You're under arrest!”

Zuko lands with a groan, and Sokka tries to fight back a wince. He helps Zuko back to his feet, holding his wrist to keep his arm twisted behind his back. He sets his other hand on Zuko’s shoulder and leans close. “Don't worry, I'll figure it out,” he whispers, giving his shoulder what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze.

“Let’s go,” the guard orders, holding her injured shoulder.

“Uh. Where?” Sokka asks, glancing over his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes. “To the healer’s.”

“Right.” He turns forward again. “Right.” He squeezes Zuko’s wrist, a silent _Let’s go_.

Zuko’s shoulders tense up in a way that seems to say, _What do you want me to do?_

Sokka gives Zuko a little push, trying to silently convey: _Use your Fire Nation magic to lead me to the healer_.

Zuko stays rooted to the spot. Oh, for spirits’ sake, really? Zuko instantly knew where the spare uniforms would be, but he can’t figure out where the healer is? No, wait, that makes total sense. Zuko has probably never voluntarily sought out a healer in his life.

“Um,” Sokka starts, voice pitched significantly higher, “which way is that, again?” He can feel the guard’s eyes burning into the back of his head and _does not_ turn around to meet her gaze.

“Walk forward.” After a moment, she scoffs, “Are you a new hire from the colonies, or are you just stupid?”

Zuko stumbles a bit, like he tripped, head jerking forward.

“Yes,” Sokka says. And then clarifies: “I’m from the colonies.”

The guard scoffs again and starts directing him to the healer’s. She doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the walk—other than single word orders to turn here or there—but she mutters insults about new guards and colonies and slow reaction times the entire way. Charming.

“It’s the door on the right.”

Sokka nods, slowly directing Zuko towards it. 

The guard apparently has no faith in him at this point because she sighs loudly and shoves past him to open the door before he can reach it. There are two guards in the room, one holding a bloodstained cloth to his arm. The other glances up as the door opens and lets out a low whistle. “What’d you do to your shoulder there, Ailumi?” he asks. “Wait, don’t tell me. You tripped and fell down the stairs.”

Ailumi pulls off her helmet with her good arm, scowling at the man. “Shut up, Taizo. Why are you even in here?”

“Moral support for Cho.” He gestures at the guard beside him and then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “He _did_ trip and fall down the stairs.”

“I was pushed!” Cho whines.

“Taizo said there wasn’t a single prisoner near you,” a woman says as she walks in from the back room, a jar in her hand. She steps over to Cho and starts spreading a poultice over his cut.

“There wasn’t.”

Cho makes a disgruntled noise, scowling at Taizo, and then pointedly turns towards Ailumi. “So, what happened?”

“This kid was posing as a guard and tried to dislocate my shoulder.” She jerks her head at the doorway, where Sokka and Zuko are still hovering.

Taizo frowns. “Weird. I hadn’t heard of any missing prisoners. Where’d he come from?”

“Don’t know; don’t care. Since you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful for once and grab him a uniform.”

“Why don’t you send him?” Taizo gestures at Sokka.

Ailumi snorts. “He’s new. He’d get so lost that we’d never see him again.”

“Ugh. Fine. Be right back.”

The healer starts tending to Ailumi while Taizo’s gone. Sokka spends the entire time shifting his weight anxiously from foot to foot. What is he supposed to do now?

He gets his answer when Taizo returns, a bundle of clothes in hand. “We’ll take this from here,” he says.

Sokka hesitates. He hates the thought of leaving Zuko alone with these guards.

Ailumi turns towards him. “You’re dismissed,” she says, slowly, like that would make him more likely to understand.

He nods and painstakingly pries his fingers away from Zuko’s wrist. He takes a single step back.

Ailumi levels him with an unimpressed look. “Weren’t you in the middle of rounds?”

“Right! Yes! I’ll... get back to that.” He tries to catch Zuko’s eye, but his gaze is fixed on the floor. Sokka spins and flees the room.

He paces aimlessly through the prison for a while, panic clawing at his chest. How does this mission keep getting more and more off track? First, he found out that his father wasn’t even _here_ , and now Zuko’s been caught. Their odds of escaping are rapidly dwindling.

Why did he even think they could do this in the first place? What, because he helped Katara stage a prison break once, he was suddenly an expert at them? This is the Fire Nation’s highest security prison. The warden said that no one had ever escaped.

No, he _refuses_ to let the warden be right. He’s not giving up that easily.

Sokka walks back to the coolers as quickly as he can without drawing suspicion. When he reaches them, he glances up and down the hall before slipping inside. He shivers slightly at the sudden drop in temperature, and his feathers puff up briefly.

He drags his fingers along the wall absently—letting out a quiet hiss at how cold the metal is—as he inspects it, trying to figure out how they keep it cold. There’s a single vent in the ceiling, but other than that, it’s completely sealed off from the rest of the prison.

Whatever they’re using to insulate this thing, it’s impressive. If someone had stuck him in here blindfolded, he might have thought that he was somewhere near the poles. He _certainly_ wouldn’t have guessed that he was in the middle of the Fire Nation, let alone a boiling lake inside a volcano. And the metal can obviously stand up to intense heat: Chit Sang hadn’t put up a fight, but there are old scorch marks on the walls.

Sokka fights back a grin, trying not to get too excited. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up too much—he still has to check the perimeter, see if there’s a way to get the cooler into the lake undetected, if there’s enough of a current to take them across—but…

This could work.

He’s not going to let the warden win. He’s not going to let the _Fire Nation_ win. Zuko getting caught is a setback, but he can work with it. They can still break out of here. _Sokka_ can still break them out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comment and kudos!
> 
> Homologous structures kill the man (me). Homology is the similarity between structures due to shared ancestry. Bird wings have the same joints and (most of) the same bones that arms do. Technically, the elbow joint in a wing is just called the elbow, but I figured that would be confusing/unrealistic in a world where people have wings and arms. So Latin.
> 
> I added a note to the last chapter about wing clipping, but if anyone missed it: It's a temporary and painless way to prevent flight. You just cut about half the length of primaries off with scissors, and the bird is unable to fly until its next molt.
> 
> [Here's a diagram](https://www.petworldlawrence.com/images/WingClip.png) of where you cut and [here's a photo of a total wing clip](http://www.katscrittercare.com/images/Wingtrim.JPG) and [one where the two outermost primaries are left intact](http://washandwagdoggrooming.yolasite.com/resources/Wing-clipped-modified.jpg).
> 
> Thanks to [burnt_oranges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnt_oranges/pseuds/burnt_oranges) for beta-ing!  
> (And [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirikka/pseuds/Hirikka), for continuing to put up with my infinite messages)


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